


whispers in sheets

by xaves



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Boys Being Cute, M/M, SDCC, long distance phonecall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaves/pseuds/xaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bradley tugs at the edge of his pillow, letting the deep voice fill the unlit room until it’s like the man is there, and not miles and oceans and a phonecall away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whispers in sheets

**Author's Note:**

> Colin is at SDCC. Bradley is at home, being sad on the tube and watching Cols on dumb MTV interviews, laughing like an idiot.

“Saw you on that interview. MTV one.” Bradley hums into the phone, a sleepy grin pressed into the pillow, toes curled in the blanket, imagining the eyeroll and annoyed expression that had settled on Colin’s face from his words. “Liked the bit about Arthur seeing Merlin differently. Subtle.”  
  
There’s a deep chuckle and a rustle of sheets on the other side of the line. Wiped out from having fun, no doubt. Hair mussed, eyes bloodshot from camera flashes and jet lag. Oh, the life of a celebrity. “As soon as he said that it was a global thing, I knew you would be watching. You berk. It was a rubbish interview, anyway, don’t know why you bothered.”  
  
 _Smaug._ Honestly.

  
“I was just going for the spoilers. Severely disappointed by the lack of name dropping, might I add. And that i’m not your favorite cast member to work with.”  
  
“But you’re not.” Colin laughs again. “You’re absolutely impossible.”  
  
“You’re just bitter that I don’t give you peanut butter every time you smile. Like those Americans, Colin. How many jars are you stocked up on now? Ten? A hundred? Have they taken over your room? Did you start putting them in Katie’s? Did they just donate partial ownership of the company to you? Colin Morgan, CEO of Skippy peanut butter.”  
  
There’s a palpable guilty pause at that, and Bradley’s already sitting up, lips curling in disbelief. “No.” He practically cackles, “ _Colin._ ”  
  
A brief grunt and audible clink of something in the background. More rustling. “ _Bradley_.”  
  
“You’re eating it from the jar.”  
  
“You don’t know that.”  
  
“You only do that when you’re miserable, Cols.” Colin Morgan, eating his sad American peanut butter alone in his hotel room, tired and lonely. Probably just in his boxers. The checkered ones, gangly legs sticking out like twigs. “You’re pining, Colin.”  
  
Colin is unfortunately quick to counter, “And you’re sitting alone on the tube, rereading text messages I sent you before I left.” The Irishman ignores the splutters of protest, “Some of the fans showed me. You’re pining, Bradley.”  
  
Undoubtedly, there’s a triumphant smirk to go with that statement. Bradley lets his head fall back, thudding it against the wall as he scratches at the day old stubble running across his cheeks. So maybe he was. Maybe he _had_ been rereading the silly things Cols had sent while waiting to board his plane.  
  
Without thinking, he echoes one of them into the phone, kicking at the blankets, “Miss you loads, Cols.”  
  
Colin’s breath comes out as a static-like sigh. They’ve done this so many times before. They’ll do it again. These silly confessions that still make them embarrassed as their insides curl with unspoken tenderness. Bradley tugs at the edge of his pillow, letting the deep voice fill the unlit room until it’s like the man is there, and not miles and oceans and a phonecall away.  
  
“I’ll be back soon.”  
  
“Good.” Bradley answers with a smile. He tries to think of a witty goodbye, a one-liner that will make Colin laugh again, will remind the man of exactly what he’s missing and who could potentially make the convention all that better, if not for conflicting work schedules. But his sleep-fuzzed mind comes up short an he can only think of peanut butter and messy black hair over eyes crinkled in a smile, a foot that won’t stop jiggling the entire interview, long fingers fiddling with a microphone.  
  
“Very good.” He repeats softly, eyes sliding shut. “I’ll be waiting, _wise adviser_.”  
  
Romantics aside, hearing Colin mutter curses as he falls asleep is just as satisfying, he decides.


End file.
